"You got me wrong.
I came out here lookin' for Dan Pierce.
I ain't no stunt-rider."
The director's mouth twisted contemptuously.
"You cowboys are all alike.
All talk and no guts."
Nevada stared at him for a minute.
He felt the hard knot of anger tightening inside him.
He was tired of this, of the runaround he'd been getting ever since Pierce's office. His voice went cold. "It'll cost you five hundred dollars for me to take a horse off that cliff."
The director stared at him, then broke into a smile.
"You must've heard that every man in Hollywood turned that jump down."
Nevada didn't answer.
"O.K. Five hundred it is," the director said casually and turned back to the cameraman.
Nevada stood near the horse's head, feeding him an occasional lump of sugar.
The horse nuzzled his hand. He patted the horse's neck.
It was a good horse. The animal responded quickly and there wasn't a frightened bone in his body.
"We're about ready," the director said. "I've got cameras covering you from every angle, so you don't have to worry which way to look.
You go when I give the signal."
Nevada nodded and mounted the horse.
The director stood limned against the edge of the cliff, his hand raised in the air.
Suddenly, his hand dropped and Nevada dug his spurs into the horse.
The animal leaped forward in almost a full gallop.
Nevada gave him his head and led him into the jump.
Nevada took him high and the horse started down, his legs stiff, braced for a short fall. Nevada felt the great beast's heart suddenly pound between his legs as his hoofs didn't meet the expected ground.
The animal writhed in sudden panic as it began to tumble forward.
Quickly Nevada kicked free of the stirrups and threw himself over the horse's side.
He saw the water rushing up toward him and hoped he had jumped far enough so that the horse didn't land on top of him.
He hit the water in a clean dive and let the momentum carry him deep.
He felt an explosion in the water near him. That would be the horse.
His lungs were burning but he stayed down as long as he could.
At last, he had to come up.
It seemed like forever till he broke the surface, gasping.
He turned his head and saw the horse floating on its side, its head twisted in a peculiar manner. There was a look of great agony in its eyes.
He turned and swam quickly toward the bank. Angrily he strode toward the director.
The director was smiling.
"That was great.
The greatest shot ever made!"
"That hoss's back is probably broke!" Nevada said. He turned and looked out at the horse again. The animal was struggling to keep its head above water. "Why don't somebody shoot the poor son of a bitch?" Nevada demanded.
"We already sent for the wrangler to bring a rifle.
He's back on the other hill." "That hoss’ll be drowned before he gets here," Nevada snapped. "Hasn't anybody got a gun?"
"Sure, but nobody could hit him. A revolver's no good at that distance."
Nevada stared at the director.
"Give me a gun." Nevada took the gun and hefted it in his hand. He spun the cylinder. "These are blanks," he said.
Someone gave him bullets. He reloaded the gun quickly and walked over to the side of the stream.
He fired at a piece of wood in the water.
The gun dragged a little to the left.
He waited a moment until the horse raised its head again, then shot the animal between the eyes.
Nevada walked back and gave the director the gun.
Silently the big man took it and held out a pack of cigarettes.
Nevada took one and the director held the match for him. Nevada let the smoke fill his lungs.